


In The Eye of The Storm

by honey_beee



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Chase is weirdly good at cards, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fate, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Found Family, I hope, I'm fully convinced abba is House's guilty pleasure, Jewish! Wilson, Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, References to ABBA, Rolling Stones - Freeform, There's a snowstorm, soft House
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-07-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25423042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_beee/pseuds/honey_beee
Summary: “Happiness,” House huffed. “Why is everyone so obsessed with it?”You can't always get what you want; but if you try sometimes, you might find you get what you need.House does not want Wilson to invite his subordinates over for dinner, and he definitely doesn't want them to be stuck there due to an unexpected snowstorm.But could the two of them find what they need?
Relationships: Allison Cameron/Robert Chase, Greg House/James Wilson
Comments: 25
Kudos: 107





	1. Drizzel

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Marie Kondo said if it doesn't spark joy, throw it out, and that's my philosophy on canon. You have been warned.  
> 2\. Since the majority of this fic isn't set in the office, there's not much medical speak. I am sure that was is in there is in some way incorrect, but what is a House MD fanfiction without medical inaccuracies?  
> 3\. Set loosely post-Tritter pre-team changes, although you are welcome to imagine it anywhere you wish.  
> 4\. I think that's all I have to say, but writing in a list like this is fun.  
> 5\. Comments and kudos are everything.  
> 6\. Enjoy!

House was late.  
It wasn’t like he particularly cared- Cuddy was easy enough to manipulate- but Wilson was behind him and howling about how he was supposed to be there 45 minutes ago, and House was most eager to shut him up.   
“Don’t turn so fast, you lunatic!” he screeched. A small smile grew on House’s face, and he took the next turn even faster. Wilson let out a whimper. Unfortunately, that meant they were at the hospital sooner, and House would have to find a new way to torture Wilson.  
House slowed, and settled the motorcycle into his normal spot. He looked up at the winter sun, illuminating the building, then back at his watch. Ah. Almost nine- just on time.   
“That was _traumatizing_ ,” Wilson said faintly, stumbling off House’s motorcycle.   
“You mean _fun,_ ” House corrected him.   
Wilson looked doubtfully at the motorcycle. “No, I certainly do not mean fun.”   
House frowned. “You’re no fun.” He began limping towards the doors.   
“I wouldn’t like to die because my friend is driving too fast, what a party pooper,” Wilson muttered under his breath, and followed House into the hospital.   
In many ways, the hospital was like high school. It was cliquey, there was drama, everyone had somebody they hated, proving that high school never really ends after high school. (Sorry, kids.)  
And just like high school, there was a bully, and that bully happened to be House. If you were around him for five minutes, you wouldn’t question it- although the fact that House was well aware of it took much of the fun out of pointing it out to him.   
“You’re late,” a stern voice said behind them. The two turn to see Lisa Cuddy, the Dean of Medicine, fighting to keep up with House’s pace in her high heels.  
“I know, and I’m so, so sorry-” Wilson began apology profusely. “This madman wouldn’t leave until 8:30, and my car isn’t working, and then there was traffic, and-”  
“Because you have never been late before and apologized, it’s fine,” Cuddy looked pointedly at House. “House, what’s your excuse?”  
He shrugged. “Didn’t want to.” It was well known that House came in any time between seven and ten, and despite the inconvenience it caused everyone around him, they wouldn’t dare suggest otherwise.   
Cuddy sighed. “Fine. But your team has been here for hours- thirty-five-year-old woman with mood swings and psychosis collapsed last night.”  
“Now that’s fun,” House said enthusiastically.   
Wilson rolled his eyes.   
Cuddy began walking away. “And please try to be on time next time.”   
“That shirt,” House nodded to Wilson’s torso.   
“Is a shirt,” he agreed.  
“Who is she?”  
“It’s a shirt, House,” Wilson feinted. “It’s an it.”   
“The woman you are wearing it for,” House clarified.  
“Well, Cuddy tends to disapprove when I walk around half-naked.”   
House glared at him. Wilson felt a rush of pride- it’s nice to remind House he can be just as witty and stubborn as he is.   
To solidify the statement, he pulled out his Ipod and earphones. House, rolling his eyes, began walking away.   
“Your shirt is dumb!” House called after him.   
Ignoring him, Wilson puted an earphone in, presses play, and Bad Day blares through his ears, drowning out whatever embarrassing thing House is yelling behind him. Hm. Fitting. 

••• 

Yet another high-school-esque aspect of Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital was the rivalry.   
It wasn’t exactly Mean Girls, but it was well known that the oncology department and the diagnostics department were at ends with each other. This would have been bad for Wilson and House’s friendship, being the head of said departments, if they had cared.   
Actually, House managed to have great fun with it. He liked to provoke the other doctors, tease their work at formal events- which, of course, was how this all started.   
Wilson considered himself above all that.   
It seemed no one else did.   
“Wilson,” there was a panting sound, and the door to his office burst open. In tumbled Cameron, Chase, and a very disapproving Foreman.   
“Er- hello,” Wilson smiled (although he feared it came out more of a grimace) and eyed House’s subordinates. “What can I do for you?”  
“Well,” Cameron began, she looked rather flustered, as if realizing her request was not as urgent as she once thought. “You know Anderson?”  
“Yes. He’s my college, actually.”   
“He’s hogging the MRI,” Chase explained, because Cameron was turning red.   
Wilson raised his eyebrows. “Come again?”  
“We booked the MRI for the latest patient, but he’s scanning some people twice, so we can’t use it.”   
“This is stupid,” Foreman said calmly. “Just wait til he’s done, he’s well within his rights to use hospital requirements.”  
“Equipment we _booked,_ ” Cameron said, almost shrillily.   
“Calm down,” Wilson said, putting on his dealing-with-a-hysterical-patient voice. “How badly do you need to use it?”   
One would think that going to medical school and working in a hospital would give him something more to do than settling pretentious children who didn’t want to share a toy.   
“It is pretty serious,” Foreman admitted.   
“Okay, then,” Wilson said. “I’ll talk to Anderson, and we’ll figure something out.”  
The three nodded, and turned to leave.  
“Thanks.”  
Wilson thought of how House would mock all four of them, if he were here. Just like he had mocked Wilson’s shirt. (Which was a little muddy, Wilson reflected, after how fast he took those turns this morning.)  
“Wait.”  
The three doctors paused.   
Wilson felt a smile grow on his face, and there was nothing grimace-y about it. “How would you like to have dinner with House and I?” 

••• 

Wilson waits until they’re home to tell him.   
It goes exactly as planned.   
“You’re joking, right?” House stared, aghast. “You pretended to invite my minions for dinner because you know that would be hell for me.”  
“No, I’m dead serious,” Wilson bit back a laugh. Oh, this was so much better than he thought. Convincing Foreman, Chase, and Cameron was easier than expected, too- Cameron wanted to know about his personal life, Chase practically worshiped him, and Foreman...probably wanted to improve work relations. Or poison House’s food.   
“I cannot believe you,” House whined. Oh, that line was normally Wilson’s. It was nice to see the roles reversed. “You know how hard I try not to have a social life.”  
“You-” Wilson began, but he was interrupted by a knock on the door.   
“There’s our guests,” he said sweetly, opening the door.   
Cameron, clutching a bundle of flowers, looked thrilled. Even Chase looked a bit excited. Foreman was more...disgusted. Wilson was well aware he was swimming into dangerous waters, but something in him wanted to prove something to House- what it was, he couldn’t tell.   
He wasn’t sure he wanted to.  
“Mind if we come in?” Chase said after an awkward silence.   
“Not it all. Mind if I go out?” House said bracingly.   
Wilson shot a glare at House and stepped aside. Their guests, albeit a little more reluctantly than they were before, stepped in.   
“Thank you for inviting us,” Cameron gushed, clinging to Chase’s arm and shoving the flowers towards House, apparently not put off.   
He dropped them flat on the counter, eyes hard and set somewhere between anger and apprehension.   
“How long have you been living here, Wilson?” Chase asked, nodding around at the living room.  
“About three months now,” Wilson said, shifting somewhat uncomfortably.   
Cameron pursed her lips and nodded. “Nice place.”   
An awkward silence fell between them again.   
“Uh- how do you feel about pasta?”  
“Great,” Chase nodded, swinging his arms.   
“Great,” Wilson echoed, relieved, and conjured a heap of noodles and sauce from seemingly nowhere.   
Foreman, sighing, sat down at the table. Cameron and Chase followed in suit, looking like they were realizing exactly how much fun this was going to be.   
“Can I help with anything-”  
“No, no, I got it,” Wilson said, carrying a bowl of spaghetti and utensils around the island in the kitchen and towards the dining table across from it.   
A fork clattered to the floor, behind the safety of the island. Wilson and House both dove for it.   
“Get them out of here,” House whispered.  
“Stay at the table, House,” Wilson hissed, very aware their hands were touching in the fight to get the fork.  
“Mom-”  
“I will literally tie you up if I have to.”  
“Ew, keep your kinks in the bedroom.”   
“House-” Wilson got up, grabbing the fork. House, reluctantly, followed. Their guests were staring politely at each other, either not noticing or choosing to ignore House and Wilson’s whisper-fight.   
“So, Chase, did you move into that downtown apartment?”  
“Nah, I was almost sold- I could live with the traffic, you know?- but then I saw the closet.”   
“Not enough room for your sexuality in there?” House guessed. Wilson and Chase both frowned at him, but Foreman gave a snicker.   
“My shoes, actually,” Chase said mournfully. Wilson wondered if he was intentionally giving House teasing material to lessen the silence.   
“How many do you need?” Foreman asked, almost curiously.   
“Well, tennis shoes, work shoes, nice shoes-” he began listing them on his fingers. “Another pair of nice shoes-”  
“Good idea,” Cameron agreed. “You have to have a brown and a black of work and formal-”  
“You only need two pairs,” Foreman frowned, and House, surprisingly, nodded. “Work or formal events, and everything else.”   
“I suppose you only have one pair?” Cameron turned to House.  
“No!” He scoffed. “Tennis shoes, and then nice ones to go with my suit.”   
“You hate suits,” Wilson muttered under his breath.  
“To bring out my eyes, then.”   
“Regardless,” Foreman said, slightly louder than was necessary, for intense debating had broken out, “I’m glad you found a place you like, then.”  
“Yeah,” Chase wrapped an arm around Cameron. “It’s closer to her, so…” Cameron looked adoringly at Chase, and House rolled his eyes and threw an arm around Wilson.  
“Please, we would all like to know more about your personal life,” House trolled.  
They were all smart enough to recognize sarcasm, thank goodness, but Cameron pushed ahead anyway.   
“We’re in your house-”  
“Apartment.”  
“-for an event outside work. Isn’t the point to share about our personal lives?”   
“You could share alright, but that would be assuming someone actually cares. Which would be taking it a step far, don’t you think?”   
Foreman snorted. Wilson stared at House, wondering why his arm was still wrapped around him.   
“We could go on talking about living arrangements and love-”  
Wilson choked.  
“-Or you could eat your damn pasta so you can leave.”   
There was a silence. The group became aware it was raining, hard, cold rain that fell straight to the earth, undisturbed by winds. It was the kind of rain that made one think that maybe precipitation really did fall all at once, in a big sheet- but that was before rain became sleet and hail.  
Suddenly, the light went out, pitching the apartment into darkness.   
“What happened?” That voice was Cameron’s.   
“I dunno.” Wilson pushed back his chair and slowly started making his way through the blackness.   
“Best party ever, Wilson.” That was House’s, who seemed to be enjoying the whole thing.   
“I think a power line went out.” There was the sound of a chair scraping against wood, and Chase stumbled his way towards the window. It let in a ray of cold, grey light. “Looks like a bad storm.”   
“My pasta is cold.”  
“Boo-hoo,” Wilson told House, craning his neck to see all the view the window had to offer.   
“I was too busy _socializing_ to eat it.”  
“You were too busy _bitching_ to eat it.”   
There was a knock at the door.   
“I’ll get it,” House said graciously, opening the door. “What do you want?” he shouted to the darkness.   
“Oh, my! Hello, dear.” The voice was old, and from what little light the window gave, the outline of a short, old woman with greying hair in rollers.   
"Oh! Mrs Brenda!" Wilson said it like an apology, darting from the window to the door and almost shoving House out of the way.   
"Hey! I'm a cripple- that's a hate crime."   
"You're a hate crime," Wilson said, too flustered to think of any real insult. “What can I do for you?”  
“I was just wondering if your power was out, dear. Mine is, and I thought it might be the router… The modern one, you know, my grandson put it in for wifi but now I think it might have messed with the power!”  
Wilson coughed. “Er, yes, our power is out, too. As you can see by all the darkness behind us. We think a power line might have gone out. With the storm.”  
“The storm,” she echoed. “I saw that on the news.”   
“You did?” Wilson pulled out his phone. The white glare illuminated his face.   
“Oh, yes,” Mrs Brenda nodded vigorously. “A snow storm.”  
“Great,” Wilson said, pained. “Do you have flashlights, or candles, or?”  
“It’s alright,” she waved his concerns aside. “I’m just going to go take a nap. I just wanted to know if it was the router. ” She began totting off, back to her apartment across the hall. Wilson waved, but then realized she wouldn’t be able to see him.  
“You yell at old ladies,” Chase said slowly once House had closed the door. “You literally yell at old ladies.”  
“Are you surprised?” Foreman said doubtfully.   
_“Yeah.”_  
Right then, the power came back out- light flooded the room, and the five doctors stood, blinking in the light.   
“They must have fixed the power line,” Wilson said with relief.   
“Cell service,” House said gleefully, turning the tv on.   
“Well, this has been lovely-” Chase said, glancing at the almost untouched plates of spaghetti- “But I think we should probably go before the storm gets worse.”   
“Of course, of course-” Wilson said. “Well it’s been lovely having you-”  
“Not,” House called.  
“-so sorry about the storm. I hope you get home all right.”  
“Thanks for having us, this was so much fun,” Cameron said sweetly. (Foreman and Chase stared at her as if she had grown an extra head, but smiled at Wilson all the same.)  
From the tv, there was a blaring noise, and then-  
“A weather announcement?” House complained. “But Joel was going to tell Diana he loved her!”   
_“Strong storms are expected this evening as a mid-level shortwave moves through the area. At this point, the main concern is for the expected snowfall, but while the chance is small, tornados cannot be ruled out.”_  
“Low of 14,” Chase said with disgust.   
“ _Hail_ expected.”   
“Right about….now,” House said, and right on cue, ice started pittering onto the roof. It didn’t take long to turn into relentless smashing, lashing against the windows and pounding against Wilson’s skull.   
“Where did you park your cars?”  
“Over in that garage, about a block away,” Foreman gazed miserably out the window. The street was completely deserted, save the hail tumbling to the sides of the road.   
Wilson glanced nervously at House. “I’m not sure you guys should drive like this.”   
House wrinkled his nose. “Where are they going to stay?”  
“Here.”   
•••   
Nobody was happy with this arrangement.   
Chase and Foreman had started a game of cards on the couch, Wilson was in the kitchen, fluttering around uselessly, and Cameron was standing by him, looking like she wanted to help but didn’t know how.   
House felt personally attacked by the storm- after all the hard work he went through trying to not have a personal life! And now, he was stuck with his minions.   
It didn’t help that Wilson was making so much noise, bustling around, moving things, then putting them back, looking out the window like a housewife who had lost her husband at sea.  
He was wearing a frilly white apron, too, something House would tease him mercilessly about when he was done sulking.   
Yes, technically he had lived with Wilson for the last three months. So this wasn’t anything new. But it was- normally House forced himself to maintain some distance between them. He tried to work late once a week, go on a motorcycle drive as much as Wilson would let him, never ride to work in the same vehicle as him. He needed some sort of proximity barrier between them, or House would feel almost as if he was on drugs again. High, that was. And addicted.   
The sacred vehicle rule had already been breached yesterday, when Wilson’s car wouldn’t work, and it gave him the most unpleasant feeling the rest of them would be, too.   
He had this-this aura of calm about him, as if plants would droop and drop their fruits around him. All the animals slowed down, as if Time was breathing a sigh of relief. It was intoxicating. Deadly. House wanted it more than anything in the world.   
Because-because it was Wilson.  
And a thousand things rose in him when he looked at him, and unfortunately, they couldn’t be squashed or beaten into line, no matter how much House tried.   
“Hey, Wilson,” House called. “Can you at least try not to be a bull in a china shop? Some of us are trying to watch Chase get his ass beat.” He popped a chip in his mouth.   
“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m just trying to make a decent meal for tomorrow. Or now, if you want,” he glanced nervously at his guests, because he was Wilson and incapable of making another human being feel the slightest bit bad. “The pasta didn’t seem to be a huge hit.”   
“That’s because those noodles are disgusting,” House said idly.   
Wilson’s eyes narrowed. “Or was it because you were eating chips beforehand!”  
“You saw me eat them in the car.”  
“I _slaved away_ at a delicious meal.”   
“Oh, please. You cooked noodles and dumped a jar of sauce on them.”  
Wilson was silent. He supposed this was technically true.  
House raised his eyes. _Gotcha._ “Who’s the drama queen now?”  
“Still you,” Wilson mumbled, but he took off the apron and sat on the couch. (Cameron, hesitantly, followed.)   
“Here’s the deal,” House announced, tearing his eyes away from Chase and Foreman’s game. Chase was truly bad at it, but seemed to have enough sheer dumb luck to slip around Foreman’s calculating moves. “There’s a guest bedroom, two of you can have that. Which two, I don’t care, but you should know it’s most definitely haunted. The other can take over Wilson’s couch. I will be in my bedroom and you will not disturb me.”   
Cameron nodded briskly.   
“Wait- what about me?” Wilson called to House’s retreating back. “You’re kicking me off the couch?”   
“You can sleep on the floor in my room.”  
Wilson sputtered. “On the-on the floor?”  
“Just like Cinderella. I recall you slave away, and look real sexy in an apron.”   
“I- your bed is king-sized!”   
House’s subordinates were looking on with great interest now, and Wilson could feel a blush creep up his neck.   
“Keep up that Catholic schoolgirl thing, I hear the boys love it.” And with an exaggerated wink, House disappeared into his bedroom. 

••• 

This day could not get worse.   
It literally _could not_ get worse, and Wilson had been in three divorces to date.  
In fact, if it did- Wilson threw up his hands- if it did, then he would surrender. The universe would win, because nothing could top this.   
Okay. Well, maybe not _nothing._ He actually liked House’s colleges, for the most part. He always felt a bit unsettled around them- they never seemed to hesitate to stab each other in the back. But aside from that, they were fine enough.   
He knew House hated them here, in his apartment, however, and Wilson couldn’t help a surge of guilt. It was an innocent action, right? He thought it would just be an unpleasant night, and then they would all move on with their lives. He didn’t ask for them to be stuck here.   
He wouldn’t want for them to be stuck here, either- he was probably going to ruin whatever little actual human connection House and his colleagues had. Great. It wasn't like House cared- but Wilson did. He needed people.   
They both did.   
Wilson sighed. He hated sighing- it was like gathering all his disappointment and pushing it out his mouth. He didn’t like people seeing all the pain and fear pass through his lips. But what choice did he have?   
“Wilson. Are you alright?”   
Wilson glanced up to see Cameron, Chase, and Foreman all looking up from their card game and at him. He had been so engrossed in his thought he wasn’t sure which one had done the talking.   
“Er- yeah. Yeah,” he said, more confidently, reaching up to rub his neck. “Just- House.”   
Cameron raised her eyebrows. She still hadn’t quite forgiven him for making that deal with Tritter, he thought. “What about him?”   
“Just-” he rubbed his neck again, very aware of how lame he was sounding. “People. He doesn’t like them much.”  
Foreman laughed. “Yeah, we noticed that.”   
“It’ll be good for him,” Chase said, tossing his cards on the table.   
“A king? Seriously?” Foreman seemed dumbfounded. “How do you do that?”   
Chase shrugged. “You shouldn’t underestimate people.”   
“Apparently...”   
“Want to join?” Cameron asked, tone still too close to icy for Wilson’s comfort.   
Wilson shook his head. “No, I better…” he gestured to House’s bedroom. “Yeah.” Grabbing some blankets out of the hall closet, he waved goodnight to House’s subordinates and pushed the door open to House’s bedroom. It was dark, but House had clearly been awake, for he started loudly fake-snoring as soon as Wilson walked in.   
Wilson stared at the floor for a long moment, and reluctantly began to spread the bedding on it. With a huff, he collapsed onto the ground. In less than three seconds, he was up again, prodding House.   
“Move over.”  
House opened an eye sleepily. “No.”  
“Yes,” Wilson pouted.   
With a huge eye roll, House shifted over, and Wilson scrambled under the warm, soft covers. “You know everyone already thinks we’re a couple, right?”  
“Suck it up.”  
“Yeah, that’s what all the boys who climb in bed with me say.”   
The bed wobbled with Wilson’s silent laughter. He was so relieved to not be on the floor or the couch, he fell asleep almost right away to the sound of House’s breathing. House lay awake long after that, staring at his friend out of the corner of his eye and listening to his breathing for hours.   
At least Wilson had brought some more heat.


	2. Tempest

House woke up angry.  
Believe it or not, House didn’t normally wake up angry. Anger was acquired when traffic sucked or Wilson got a new girlfriend or he got sued. Bitter- sure. Most of his personality was just the word “bitter”, in all caps and flashing neon. He wasn’t sure there was anyone besides Wilson who believed there was more to him.  
Regardless, today House woke up angry.  
He lifted his head. The clock on his bedside table read 9:05. He flopped down on the pillow again and tried to shove the knot in his chest down. House noticed his arm was slung around Wilson. House blamed him for snatching it for cuddling. Reluctantly, he looked over at Wilson. His floppy, Disney-princes hair was falling in his eyes. A couple years ago, he had grown it out, 90s boy-band esque, but now, with it shorter, it made him look older.  
Even in Wilson’s sleep, he looked tired. House wondered when the pair of them had gotten so old and fucking tired.  
“Wha..” Wilson’s eyes slowly fluttered their way towards consciousness. As soon as they saw House staring at him, they shot open.  
“You’re horrible in bed,” House informed him.  
Wilson gaped. “I- er-what?” He looked down, past his _bare_ chest and towards where his and House’s _bare_ legs were tangled, House’s arm still wrapped around him. All that vast expanse flesh triggered a feeling of -of sinking, almost- in House’s stomach, and he looked away.  
“I’m kidding,” House snicked, sitting up and taking his arm with him. “Jeez, lighten up.”  
“I- '' his eyes fell upon House’s alarm clock. _“Late!”_ he practically screamed in House’s ear, scrambling out of his bed and changing into last night’s clothes. “It’s nine. It’s nine. It’s _nine._ Oh, God, Cuddy is going to have my _head_ \- it will take us ten minutes to get ready, let’s say twenty to get there- oh, dear-” he fled out of the bedroom, and House watched him go with a scowl.  
There. He had woken up.  
It was all downhill from here. 

•••  
“We are _late,_ ” House could hear Wilson shouting in the living room. Reluctantly, he pulled on a pair of pants and followed Wilson out.  
When he arrived, he saw Wilson staring, dumbfounded at the tv. A web comb was in his hand, and the bottoms on his shirt were only partially done. House stared at the pillowy flesh, before realizing he was staring and quickly dropped his gaze.  
_“As cold fronts to move across the east coast, they bring snow, sleet, and even hail to New Jersey, Delaware, and Connecticut. Locals are advised to hunker down for the time being, as facing strong winds and hail is not going to be easy. Hold on, everyone.”_  
The screen showed an image of a trunk, blown over by the wind, it’s goods spilling out of the side onto the road.  
“Oh,” Wilson said faintly, collapsing onto a bar stool by the island. “I guess we’re not late.” He set the comb on the island.  
“No,” Cameron agreed. She, Foreman, and Chase were all on the couch. “The roads are still icy, I don’t think we’d be able to drive.” Between everyone's weary expressions, yesterday’s wrinkled clothes, and the expect stares at House, it looked like the aftermath of the world’s most uncomfortable five-some ever.  
House said so, and everyone winced and groaned, but nobody looked surprised.  
“I’ll call Cuddy,” Wilson said, staring down at his half-buttoned shirt with an expression of vague confusion.  
“Already done.” Cameron reported. “She says if we’re in walking distance, come, but if we have to drive, don’t risk it. And everyone is on clinic duty when we come back, the hospital is overwhelmed between all the crash accidents and colds.”  
“Ew.”  
She snuck a glance at House, then added: “She seems enormously relieved you didn’t invite her over for dinner.” Foreman laughed at that.  
“Coffee,” Wilson said weakly.  
“Get it yourself,” House said irritably, fighting that rising feeling in his stomach again. It felt as though it had plummeted to the ground without the rest of his body. Which was medically impossible, of course. (He glanced at the ground between his feet, just to make sure.)  
He decided he hated Wilson. Not Wilson himself, because Wilson was kind and generous and patient and a thousand other things, but how he makes House feel. Like he was floating. Relief. Hope, bordering on happiness. Reason to live.  
Like an addict.  
Because in all truth, House forgets what it’s like to hate himself around someone as lovely as Wilson.  
And that scared the crap out of him.  
“Are- are you alright?” Wilson peered at House’s face.  
“Fine,” House said briskly, and strode back into his room. He’d be damned if Wilson got the better of him.

•••  
As much as House hated to say it, he couldn’t live in his room.  
Well, not without coffee.  
“Hey,” Wilson said casually as House limped into the kitchen. His back was turned- _it’s the cane’s fault,_ House thought bitterly. “Are you making tea?”  
“No, I’m not an old lady.”  
“Are you making coffee?”  
“Yes.”  
“Can you make me tea?”  
“No.”  
“Why not?”  
“You didn’t say ‘please’.”  
Wilson let out a long-suffering sigh. “Can you please make me some tea?”  
“No.”  
This wasn’t really out of character for them. Most of their discussions went like this. So why did House feel different? Spying Cameron out of the corner of his eye -reading a romantic novel, barf- he quickly adopted his bored, sauve, brooding look, just in time for Wilson to turn around.  
Wilson frowned. “Take your badass look off and make me some tea.”  
Gd, House loves it when he’s obnoxious.  
He wants to kiss the look off Wilson’s face, instead, he puts on a smirk of his own. “Are you threatened by my badassery?”  
“...No,” Wilson said, albeit defensively.  
“Really? Cuz I can never take you seriously,” House drawled.  
“Most of our conversations aren’t quite this weird. What’s going on?”  
“Your hair is too soft,” House objected. “You look like you walked out of a fairy tale.”  
“I know you’re trying to insult me, but that’s actually pretty nice,” Wilson said, frowning. House realized how gay that was and quickly backtracked.  
“Well- your eyebrows are too big, then,” he said pettily.  
“You don’t shave enough! It makes you look way older!” “Like I need beauty tips from you! Those brightly colored ties you wear are awful.”  
“Your cane is too loud. And you trip old ladies with it.” Wilson, House was pleased to see, was looking a satisfactory level of annoyed and confused. It had taken Wilson years to realize House’s rude remarks and complaining were just how he communicated. Wilson snapping back was just him speaking House’s language. As a result, neither of them took the jabs very personally. This was different, somehow, in a way neither of them wanted to explain.  
“You were laughing, too! And you know how I know?” House said smugly. “Your stupidly expressive eyebrows.”  
“You-” Wilson paused, and studied House carefully. “Hun,” he said airly. A grin was creeping on his face. “That’s interesting. Your eyes just dilated.”  
“No, now you say ‘your eyes are just too striking and gorgeous’,” House corrected.  
“No!” Wilson pointed a finger at him, as if he had just unraveled some great secret. “Your respiratory rate just increased!”  
“This is an intense battle,” House protested.  
“No.” Wilson leaned in, so they were almost nose-to-nose, a dark look dancing in his eyes. They could both definitely hear House’s quicken breathing now. “You’re attracted to me.”  
“I-to you?” House did his best to snort. “Please.”  
“You insulted me, and your pupils dilated,” Wilson said, punctuating the last two syllables with a clap. “You think I’m devilishly attractive.”  
Wilson grinned. It took House a second to flounder and sputter, then he said: “You’re devilishly arrogant, that’s what. Didn’t your mother teach you some humility? Which only makes Wilson’s irritable grin bigger.  
That line between fighting and flirting had long been crossed. That proximity barrier had long been breached.  
“You are not getting out of this,” Wilson warned. His nose was almost pressed against House’s. He could feel Wilson’s warm breath billowing onto his face. His hair, that stupid, disney-princes hair, was almost touching House. He could feel it ticking his forehead.  
House could feel that thing in his stomach again, rising and sinking and swooping, as if he had missed a step going down the stairs.  
Wilson raised an eyebrow. A smile splayed across his lips. “I’m going out,” House blurted suddenly. Scrambling away from Wilson, he slipped on his jacket and gloves.  
“Out?” Four heads snapped up. Wilson stared, agape. No, hurt. He gazed at House in dismay.  
“That’s what I said,” House agreed, settling his face so it looked more bored and not at all caring.  
Panic. Caged animal panic. He needed to leave. To escape. To outrun the fizzing beneath his skin. Cameron stood up, but Wilson sent her a Look- one House couldn’t quite read- and she sat down again.  
“You cannot go out.”  
“But Mommy, I want to play outside with all the other kids!” House whined, opening the door. A whoosh of cold air raced into the apartment. “Are you insane?” Wilson asked, although he already knew the answer.  
House just raised an eyebrow, and Wilson backtracked. “There are no other kids! Everybody is staying home, because this is a blizzard and people stay home.”  
“I’m not like other girls,” House simpered. Normally, Wilson wouldn’t stop him. House was infamously dangerously impulsive. But in these conditions...Wilson pursed his lips.  
“This is serious, House,” he said firmly. “The roads are icy and slick. The city hasn’t been out to salt that yet. The wind is 25 miles an hour, it’s > _snowing,_ and..and…” he stumbled for more statistics.  
“It feels like 32,” Chase supplied.  
“Yes. Yes, exactly,” Wilson said, pointing at Chase, who looked unsure whether to be proud or scared.  
“Why do you have to make everything so _hard!”_ House flung at Wilson. “I-I’m the one making things hard?” Wilson asked, stunned and angry. _Please, not in front of all these people._ “You’ve been off all day!”  
“Kids, don’t worry,” House turned to Chase, Cameron, and Foreman. “Mommy and Daddy are just having a little disagreement, but we still love you.”  
“House-” Wilson rubbed his neck. “Listen, don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry. Just- please don’t go.” He knew how ridiculous it sounded- that House was going to suddenly charge into the strong’s unforgiving arms. It was a stupid, probably empty threat. But he wasn’t taking any chances, because when House was hurt, he deflected and sought attention. Which ticked the box pretty nicely, did it not?  
House stared at Wilson. In surprise. Anger. Somewhere, fear. And maybe a little curiosity.  
Wilson stared at House. In desperation. In hurt. In fear. And maybe… a little hope.  
Everyone else stared at both of them.  
House was tempted to storm out the door, just to see the look on their faces. Run down to the building’s laundry room, just to escape. Just to have space to breath again. Just to have space to be again.  
But Wilson. Brow furrowed, eyes pleading. Shoulders tense, head tipped slightly to the side.  
Looking so…. Heartbroken.  
Which was ridiculous.  
But House wasn’t going to be the one causing that face. Hesitantly, he gave a small nod- so small, Cameron didn’t notice it when she stepped in.  
“Whhhhy don’t we talk about something else,” she said patiently. Wilson thought he recognized the hysterical-patient voice. “House, sit down. Wilson, go make him coffee.”  
“I’m not about to be ordered in my own _home-_ ” Wilson began hotly.  
“ _My_ own home,” House corrected. “Wilson, go make me some coffee.”  
Wait. House was listening to _Cameron?_ Sullenly, Wilson stomped to the kitchen. Okay. House wasn’t going to drive off into the snowstorm like the lunatic he was. That was good. But why was he listening to Cameron? Sacrifice of a joyride for Wilson’s mild humiliation- that was a shit deal. And then Cameron would think she had a power over him.  
“Beauty and the Beast,” he mumbled to a mug, slamming it onto the counter. “The beautiful, broken girl is the only one who can tame the savage man. Turns out all he needs is true love and some vicodin!”  
Wilson poured the coffee into the mug. It over-spilled onto the counter and dripped down to the floor. Fucking of course. House needed so much more than that, actually. And if Wilson thought House needed him- if he just asked, Wilson would be his.  
And for a moment there, it looked like he was. House had leaned in. He had pressed his nose against Wilson’s and complemented his hair. And somehow, that had hurt his feelings. What had Wilson done?  
But House didn’t ask. He had tried to run. He needed friends that go above and beyond, yes. He’d need Wilson’s car and money and food and sway, but never Wilson.  
Because when Wilson had first woken up, House’s eyes were closed. Even though he was still murmuring in his sleep, twisting and turning, he had been asleep and looking shockingly vulnerable. Wilson was sure most people thought of him as a machine that never rested, but there, Wilson saw him as...achingly human. He had been so comforted by the thought, he had promptly fallen back asleep, until he woke up again a few hours later, and well, the rest was history.  
Maybe it was good Cameron was talking to him. 

•••  
House rarely experienced the price of being a jackass, although he was painfully aware of it.  
Most of the time, in the office, it didn’t matter. Here, stuck in his apartment with his subordinates, it was a matter of survival.  
He had no...control. No reason for anyone to listen to him. He had defined his worth by his ability to solve cases, and now, outside of the office, he only had his weak humanity to rely on.  
Wilson had said once that kindness was like a muscle. The more you use it, the easier it gets, even if it’s tough sometimes. Ug- Wilson. House quickly pushed that thought out of mind.  
On the other hand, there was some dark satisfaction in ruining what little fun anyone was having.  
“Listen up,” House declared, tapping his cane against the wood floor. Four heads shot to him. “It looks like we’ll be in here for another day, so we need to lay some ground rules. First off, nobody calls me ‘Greg’. Especially you,” he looked at Cameron, who had called everyone by their first names as a power move one day. “Second, you are welcome to use anything in the house, but clean it up. Third, inform me whenever there’s an update on the weather. And forth, I sleep in the nude, so knock before entering.”  
Wilson knew this was a lie, but Cameron, Chase, and Foreman’s faces were too funny to correct. He cleared his throat. “If you want to borrow an extra toothbrush, hairbrush, toiletries, you’re welcome to it. And we’re sorry we’ve been such negligent hosts.”  
(“We are?” House frowned.)  
“It’s alright,” Foreman assured Wilson. “We know you didn’t expect this to happen. We’re sorry we’re intruding on your hospitality for so long.”  
“Yes, _I didn’t expect this to happen,”_ Wilson agreed with a long look at House. He decided to ignore the second sentence, which he was pretty sure was civil-speak for ‘if I had to be stuck anywhere for two days it would not be with you.’  
Slowly, he sat down onto a chair. “Are we all card-gamed out?”  
Chase smiled. “Yeah, I think so. If I ever have to play another game of that crap Foreman and I were playing again…”  
“I think I have Uno in my purse,” Cameron offered. She paused. “Although the last time I brought it out, it nearly ended in a bloodbath.”  
“This might end in a blood bath regardless of Uno,” House declared, finally sitting down behind Wilson. In unison, the five doctors glanced out the windows. They could barely see the lamppost outside in the street, it was all shades of white and grey. (The couch they were sitting on was a loveseat, so they were pressed close together. There was still an open chair when House had sat down, so Wilson knew this was as close to an apology as he was going to get. He wasn’t sure if he was accepting it or not. Stop running, Wilson wanted to shout in his ear.)  
“Why did you become a doctor?” Chase asked suddenly, nodding to the group.  
Foreman spoke first.  
“Just wanted to help people, I guess. Isn’t that why everyone does?”  
“No,” House trolled. Foreman didn’t look like he was going to go on, but at House’s remark, he opened his mouth again.  
“Growing up, I just saw so much suffering and inequality, I thought if there’s any way I could help...I should.”  
Wilson waited for House to point out that if he wanted to help inequality, he could have become a human rights lawyer, or a humanitarian asshole, but he didn’t.  
“What about you?”  
“Little girl on the playground. Seven years old. One minute she was on the monkey bars… the next she was in cardiac arrest. I never wanted to see anyone suffer like she did,” Chase said softly.  
“My mom had an autoimmune disease,” Cameron said quietly. “The doctors couldn’t narrow it down, and she died. Became a doctor so I could do what they couldn’t.”  
There were murmurs of sympathy. Even House didn’t say anything.  
Wilson nodded knowingly. “My mother was a doctor. Dad left, so I got to be with her on some of the long shifts. Being with someone your age, just like you in every way expect they’re going to die from cancer...it leaves an impression on you.”  
“Wow, what pure-hearted doctors we have here,” House said with fake sweetness. Of course, only after Wilson had started speaking. It was hard to pretend that didn’t sting. “They just want to help people and do good in the world.”  
“Who wants tea?” Wilson said suddenly. He was waiting for House’s outburst, but if there was some way to spare their guests, he would do it.  
“Can’t you see we’re having an emotional heart-to-heart here?” House said aggressively.  
“Believe it or not, House,” Cameron said, frowning- there was no way to stop it now, Wilson thought despairingly-“Most people whose job it is to help people do it because they care about others.”  
“You don’t,” House said, raising his eyebrows. “You all just told me you only became doctors just to relieve the guilt of failing to save someone!”  
“Which is okay,” Wilson stepped in. “If we look at the actions, and not the intentions- just like you’re always saying, House- then we’re putting more good into the world, even if there’re selfish motives.”  
“You would know all about selfish motivations,” House agreed. Wilson ignored the jibe.  
“I disagree,” Cameron frowned. “If you were trying to poison someone who had cancer, and the poison ended up healing the cancer instead of the person, somehow, you can’t say you did a good thing, because you meant to hurt someone.”  
“But you would have developed a cure for cancer,” Wilson argued. “You could save millions of people with that!”  
“But if the person didn’t have cancer, you would have killed them.”  
“Many great discoveries were an accident,” Chase chimed in.  
“Yeah, but they have simple motivations,” Foreman reminded him.  
“Humans are supposed to judge ourselves by our actions, and others by their intentions,” House said firmly. “When you start judging others by their intentions, or when you discredit one or the other, things start to get messy.”  
“So, when you start judging people fairly, things get messy,” Cameron said, almost smugly. “Your motivations may not have anything to do with the task you’re performing, but they have everything to do with your judgement.”  
“Life is messy,” said Wilson, who still hadn’t picked a side in the argument.  
“Intentions are more important,” Foreman decided. “Because regardless of the good your actions put into the world, if you didn’t want that to happen...”  
“But you don’t always know people’s intentions,” Cameron said wisely.  
“Oh, please,” House interrupted. “People are selfish. They’ll do whatever they think they need to do to survive, even if it’s at the cost of others. The good is just an accident.”  
“When Tritter was after you, Wilson put everything on the line- and lost almost all of it- because he wanted to help you,” Foreman reminded him. “You know what- I think you judge _yourself_ by your actions, and others by the intentions you assign to them, because you believe all intentions are evil. So you dismiss your own and then use others’ as a reason to condemn them.”  
“Exactly,” House said, looking surprisingly pleased. “Because people are selfish, and they’ll willingly hurt others if it means their own comfort.”  
No one knew what to say to that.  
“But… humans are hardwired to protect others.” Wilson spoke at last. He was chewing gingerly on his lip. Shirt pushed up his forearms, hands on his hips, stuck with a confused expression. “Hear me out, hear me out,” he said hastily when the others opened their mouths. “Humans have it ingrained in their heads that they need to protect their pack. Does that mean hurting others outside that group? Yes. Does that mean asserting dominance, on occasion? Sure. Even if you think self-sacrifice is stupid-” he looked at House. “It still happens. And there’s a reason for that. House will argue that people only protect others so they can sleep at night. But if that were true, then we wouldn’t forgive. Think about it! Someone has wronged you. You have every right not to help them- they’ve hurt you, so there’s no reason to protect them. Yet we forgive purely so that a person who has wronged us feels better. We're at the mercy of ourself and others, and they often abuse that power. But we're so aggressively social, we make it work. For the most part. ”  
“Hun,” Foreman said airly.  
“Good over evil,” Cameron remarked.  
“Bullshit,” House called.  
“Karma is going to get you one day,” Cameron told him through slitted eyes.  
“Who’s that again? Oh- was she the hooker from a coupe years ago?”  
“Dinner, anyone?” Wilson offered, glancing at his watch. “It’s about six. We have leftover spaghetti, some soup, I could make fried rice, or if you want another kind of noodle…”  
“You can make fried rice?”  
“It’s really not that hard,” House said, bursting what little bubble Wilson had. “The hardest part is not chopping your fingers off- although Wilson managed to do that, too.”  
“I did not chop my fingers off,” Wilson said with forced calm. “I nicked my finger.”  
“You had to pull over because of it.”  
“I had to pull over because you wouldn’t drive me to the hospital and blood was getting all over the car,” Wilson corrected.  
“Pasta sounds great,” Cameron said hastily.  
“Great! Do you want spaghetti, or we have rotini…?”  
House stonily avoided his gaze through the whole thing, and Wilson wanted to scream. Look at me. _Look at me!_ It didn’t have to me like before, soft and caring and almost as if House wanted Wilson.  
_Just...look at me,_ Wilson thought again, more desperately than he would like to admit. _As if you need me._

•••  
It was almost six in the evening when Forman turned on the radio.  
More accurately, he tuned his phone into the station, and the weatherman’s voice blared across the apartment.  
_“Cold fronts are continuing to move across New Jersey. Except strong winds, hail, sleet and about ten inches of snowfall.”_  
“Ten inches!” Chase swore.  
_“Once again, driving in these high winds and slippery roads continue to have a devastating effect. If possible, avoid roads. Death or serious injury may occur. The storm is expected to die down around tomorrow morning. Hang on until then.”_  
The weatherman’s voice faded away, and another, more musical one, came in its place.  
“Is this Abba?” Foreman choked back a laugh. “That- that- must be thirty years old!”  
Chase shrugged. “I kinda like it.”  
_Waterloo- I was defeated, you won the war._  
Wilson looked up at House. He was staring at Wilson, head cocked and brow furrowed.  
_Waterloo- promise to love you forevermore._  
They had crossed that line, between banter and flirting, between jokes and denial. Sometimes, Wilson wondered if it was possible House didn’t realize what he was doing, what he was saying or implying. He could be pretty shitty at reading people.  
Other times, Wilson thought House knew _exactly_ what he was doing, and indulged in it anyway. They both did- for the sake of masochism, he supposed- and one could say therein lay the problem.  
It was always tempting to just ask him, but they’d lost that game so many times before.  
“Did we get everything?” Cameron looked up from setting the table, pulling Wilson out of his thoughts.  
“Yeah, I think so.” Raising his voice slightly, he called: “Kids, dinner’s ready!”  
“This looks great,” Chase observed, eyeing the food. Was it almost the same meal as last night? Yes. Did Wilson care? ...Also yes, but he was too tired to really do anything better.  
“Thanks for making it,” Foreman agreed, shutting the music off and joining his fellows at the table.  
“House- are you coming?” Wilson asked him. He was still sitting on the couch, glancing at Wilson’s shoes with a look almost like pain in his eyes.  
“Kids, listen to your mother,” he deadpanned, and, refusing to look at Wilson, walked straight into his bedroom.  
Any other day, it was just House being childish.  
Today, it hurt.  
••• 

House was excellent at sulking.  
It was, in a large part, how he got what he wanted from the people who cared about him.  
He didn’t know what he wanted from Wilson.  
It seemed he always knew what he wanted. He wanted Wilson to bail him out of jail or laugh at his jokes or never leave him, no matter how awful he was.  
Today was different, and House wasn’t sure why.  
Okay, that was a lie.  
He knew why. Wilson had said House was attracted to him. House was deflected. And then Wilson had pushed his soft hair into House’s forward and looked him in the eye. That was an answer, right? An answer to a question House wasn’t sure he had ever asked.  
But it had been a response, so there must have been a call.  
It was.. Hard, to think that he might have feelings for Wilson. Wilson was his best friend who told bad jokes and couldn’t dance and wore stupid ties and fell for his pranks. That was it.  
Yet… Wilson liked to watch him play the piano. It was mundane. Stupid. But Wilson liked to watch him play the piano. Wilson would creep out of whatever room he was in as soon as House watched playing, like the rats and the Pied Piper, and lean against the door frame. He’d tip his head, and stand there until House was done- sometimes for hours. He had this look in his eyes, one House could never read, but now he wondered if the look in his eyes was how he felt the swoopy feeling.  
It reminded House of one time, when Wilson was sick and staying with him. Wilson had begged House to play for him. He had sat next to House on the bench and fallen asleep on his shoulder as he played.  
Maybe it was the same diagnosis. Same cause. Just different symptoms.  
But staring into each other’s eyes- oh, how House hated just thinking that sentence- they had the same symptoms. Wilson had pressed his nose against House’s. They had crossed that line. He wondered if Wilson realized. He must have, or that face, when House had said he was leaving, wouldn’t have been so heartbreaking.  
The door banged open. House jumped.  
“Spill,” Wilson demanded.  
House turned to Wilson, a dangerous enthusiasm in his eyes. “Okay, so, I was talking to Britteny, and she was like, ‘omg! I totally like Chad!’ and I was like ‘seriously?’ because guess who also likes Chad? Briana! But, obviously, I couldn’t tell her that, right, so I was just, like-”  
_“House.”_ Wilson pleaded. House thought again when the pair of them got so old and fucking tired. Wilson’s bags jumped out at him, and his forehead was wrinkled.  
“House, I’m right here,” Wilson urged. “Please, tell me what’s wrong!”  
House rolled his eyes. “Can you be _right here_ somewhere else?”  
Wilson sighed. He wasn’t sure what he expected. “You’ve been off all day.”  
“This is your fault.”  
Wilson sighed again- was that all he could do? Just expel defeated air from his lungs? “I’m-I’m sorry I invited your colleagues over for dinner. I thought it would-”  
“Be good for me?”  
Wilson sighed again- was that all he could do? Just expel defeated air from his lungs? “I’m-I’m sorry I invited your colleagues over for dinner. I thought it would-”  
“Be good for me?”  
“Well… I...” Wilson floundered for words, trying to put a label to the buzzing in his chest when he invited House’s minions over for dinner. “I thought we’d have a slightly uncomfortable dinner, maybe you would see they weren’t as bad as you thought, and then they’d leave.”  
“Stop trying to fix me,” House almost shouted.  
Wilson looked alarmed. “I’m not.”  
“Yes, you are,” House said firmly, pointing a finger at Wilson. “You’re trying to get me to socialize, so I can be a better person, and you can sleep at night.”  
“I didn’t ask for a snowstorm, House!” Wilson said angrily.  
“You know us better than this!”  
The words seem to fall heavy on Wilson. “I want you to be happy,” he whispered, the space between his eyebrows collapsing into sorrowful lines. “Is that so bad?”  
“Happiness,” House huffed. “Why is everyone so obsessed with it?”  
“Because...it feels nice,” Wilson volunteered hesitantly. House bit back a joke. “And it’s satisfying to want happiness and get it.” Not like either of them would know anything about that.  
“You can’t always get what you want,” House said immediately.  
“I _know,”_ Wilson bellowed. “I’ve lost three marriages. I see my best friend destroy himself every day, I had to cut expenses for months after I paid to bail you out- don’t you think I know you can’t always get what you want?” Wilson let out a huffy laugh. “I just thought...maybe you could try to find what you need.”  
House remembered playing a question game with one of his patients. He had been asked: _Ever been in love? After Stacy, I mean?_  
House hadn’t answered, just looked back at Wilson, and then stared into the distance. “Cut the bullshit,” Wilson said suddenly.  
House coughed. “Excuse me?” It was rare that Wilsondared to interrupt House’s Serious Thinking Time, and the anger in his voice almost made House worried.  
“This isn’t about your team, it’s about us.”  
“Yeah.. it’s just, I don’t feel like you have time for me anymore. Like, did you even love me? You’re always with Cameron.”  
“House,” Wilson said, exasperated. “Please, I- was it the thing earlier today? With the-”  
“Absurdly close physical contact and discussion about physical attraction towards one another? Yeah.”  
“Yeah,” Wilson repeated wearily. “Look, I thought that was a- it doesn’t matter, let’s just- clear this up, I guess-”  
“I don’t want to,” House said quietly.  
“You- what?”  
“I- you like to watch me play piano,” House announced, as if it was some big revelation- although Wilson knew whatever he was trying to say _was_ a big revelation for him.  
“Yes, I suppose I do.”  
“No, you-” House struggled for words to express the weight he wanted on the words. “You looked so hurt when I tried to leave,” he tired again.  
“Yeah.”  
“Why?”  
“Because.. I thought we were having kind of a… I said you were attracted to me. And you basically agreed, and looked at me like...like… well, I know you kne- and then,” Wilson seemed to brush over the part he didn’t want to voice, “You tried to run. I had hurt your feelings, and I didn’t know why.”  
“I stayed because of your feelings,” House frowned.  
“Well, you also hurt them!”  
“We do this thing,” House said bitterly. “I always need too much and you always give too much. We argue and scream horrible things at each other. We remember how codependent we are on each other, and you drive me to work the next day. Wash, rinse, repeat.”  
“Don’t make it that simple,” Wilson said in a low voice.  
House raised his head and gazed into those stupid puppy-dog eyes. “Isn’t it?”  
“Not to me,” he said softly. He looked back at House. That look was in his eyes again.  
House was not sure what to say to this, and they sat in an impatient silence for a few minutes.  
“Are..you just going to sit there?” Wilson asked tentatively.  
House shrugged.  
House shrugged.  
“Seriously? I-” Wilson cut himself off, stepping closer to House with a cry of “my _God,_ you absolute _bastard,”_ he seized House’s shirt collar and pulled him into a rough kiss.  
Wilson knew House wasn’t expecting it, because his jaw dropped open and he made an ‘mmph’ sound against Wilson’s lips. But he kissed back with surprising vigor, and Wilson felt all thoughts drop away.  
_This. This is where I want you._  
All the pieces were falling into place, like he had been doing the puzzle blind this whole time, and someone had suddenly ripped off a blindfold. House felt so good. Of course he did.  
He tasted like chips and bitter pills and something else that was uniquely House, and he pulled Wilson in closer, hand on his neck, the hair at the nape of his neck sticking through his fingers.  
Wilson was warm, surprisingly so, and House was too busy feeling him and tasting him and breathing him in to notice anything else.  
So this is what he had needed all along. Wilson’s hands cupped around his face and his lips pressed on House’s. He was pretty sure he was panting, and probably making some mortifying, needy noise that Wilson could feel through his lips, but Wilson’s nose was crashing onto his and so he paid it no mind.  
House was doing that thing with his chin. Moving it back and forth, pushing into Wilson, who happily let him. Wilson let out a throaty whine, and House’s vision practically tunneled.  
It was light seeping out of his body. It was withdrawal in reverse. It was the entire axis of his universe shifting, hopefully to something better.  
There was a loud clang outside the bedroom- someone dropping a plate, or the like- and Wilson froze with a deer-in-headlights expression on his face.  
Luckily, House seemed more amused than hurt. By a strange, unspoken agreement, they both collapsed backwards, lying next to each other on their backs.  
House reached a hand up and ran it through Wilson’s hair, winding it through his fingers and sighing in contentment. Wilson blinked in surprise, but smiled lazily at him.  
“Could it ever work?” House was almost sure he had said this, but the rushing in his head was surprisingly loud, and it was trying hard to push out all other thoughts.  
Wilson was quiet, the nothing between them stretching for so long, House had begun to feel genuine fear creeping up his skin.  
“I..I dunno.” Wilson said honestly. He was very aware House’s hand had stopped the petting of his hair. “We’ll fight.”  
“Oh, yeah.” House laughed softly, and to Wilson’s relief, the stroking resumed. “This is nothing.”  
“Could be…” Wilson shrugged. He looked back up at House, eyes not worried, as House expected, but almost...hopeful. As if someone had handed him a good, and he was waiting if they would tell him he had to put it back. He shrugged. “I think I’m just mean enough for it to work.”  
“Okay,” House said slowly, savoring the words in his mouth. “But then.. Can we stop trying to fix me?”  
“I..okay. But I care about you the way you are. You know that, right?” He looked so concerned, so caring, House wasn’t sure if the feeling running through him was anger or affection.  
“No...I mean.” House struggled for words. “I don’t need people.” He gestured to the door, where his colleagues were.  
“House, people need people,” Wilson sounded hurt. _I didn’t mean you, idot!_  
“What I’m trying to say,” House said huffily, “Is I don’t _care_ about that. I need you.”  
Wilson frowned. “You could just say that, you know.”  
“Oh, I’m sorry, next time I try confessing my love for my best friend, I’ll be more direct.”  
House scrunched up his forehead, pretending to think about it. “Yup.”  
So that’s what the feeling was. As if he had missed a step. As if his heart had skipped a beat. (House paused, and then consciously decided not to romanticize heart palpitations.) As if his eyes had been closed for twenty years.  
Wilson’s eyes widened. A small smile broke out on his face, and he shook his head disbelievingly.  
Everything that defined his universe was splitting at the seams, so one would expect Wilson to feel like he was shattering with it.  
But he didn’t.  
Maybe it was because the chicken he had for lunch was ever so slightly undercooked. Maybe it was because he was promised a generous tip next payday, or maybe it was because a patient expected to die was doing better, but somehow, it all made sense now.  
_It all made sense now._  
“Alright,” Wilson waved his arms. “I’m down.”  
“You’re down,” House raised his eyebrows.  
“I’m down,” Wilson repeated wearily, but House could see he was beaming.  
Wilson sat up, and House followed in suit- slower, because of his leg. House clutched his head with the hand that had been on Wilson’s.  
“Head rush?” Wilson remarked.  
House nodded, and Wilson snorted, sitting across from him, crossed legged. Feet touching his knee. He leaned forward and rested his head on House’s shoulder.  
“Kind funny, that we’re forced in here together,” House remarked softly, winding his fingers through Wilson’s hair. He leaned down and kissed Wilson’s forehead, just because he could. (Wilson wasn’t sure what House’s obsession with his hair was, but for once, it was something he would full-heartedly enable.)  
“It’s fate,” Wilson said with a wry smile on his face.  
“Fate?” House scoffed. “You believe in fate?”  
“You don’t?” Wilson countered.  
“No,” House shrugged. “I don’t like the idea that I’m not in control of my own life.”  
“But.. you’re not.” Wilson stared into the space past House’s shoulder a long time before he spoke again. “I mean, you can’t control- well, basically anything. What time you wake up, and what you eat for breakfast, is just because of your work. And work is just because you need money, and money is just because you have this expensive-ass apartment. Even your likes and dislikes- it’s all just habit. You can say you hate vanilla coffee creamer, but if you drank it every day for a month, say, you’d grow to like it. I’d rather believe that there’s some powerful force orchestrating everything behind the scenes than fend for myself, unable to choose even the smallest things.”  
“Those little things have to be enough, then,” House said roughly. “Otherwise…” he let the sentence trail off. “Do you believe in God, then?”  
It was Wilson’s turn to scoff. “Please. No God would do this to me.”  
“I’m not that bad,” House joked.  
“No, I mean,” Wilson raised his arms and guestered to everything around him. “Failed marriages. Debt. Loneliness. Tritter. Life.”  
“I never apologized, did I?” House said suddenly.  
“For what?” Wilson said, although he could think of plenty of things.  
“Everything with Tritter.”  
“It’s fine.”  
“No, it’s not.”  
“House, it’s fi-”  
“I’m trying to _apologize_ here,” House frowned. “I’m saying I appreciate everything you went through for me.”  
Wilson paused. “Oh. You’re welcome, then.”  
House wrapped his arms around Wilson, who happily turned and sat in his arms. House could faintly hear a low humming from Wilson - so low, he could almost feel it more than hear. He wasn’t sure Wilson knew he was making it. A smile graced House’s lips. Wilson was _purring._ Like a fucking cat.  
“I’m sorry,” Wilson murmured sleepily. “I’m so, so, sorry for leaving you. That day. Leaving you on the floor in a pool of your own vomit,” he finished bitterly.  
“It’s fine. I deserved it.”  
“Morally, ethically, and responsibly...yeah. But personally? No.”  
House wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, and every joke he could think of died on his lips.  
Eventually, Wilson seemed to fall asleep, and rolled out of House’s arms and into the space next to him.  
House closed his eyes, and tried to relax, but his mind was frantically scrambling to form the puzzle with all these new pieces, and something wasn’t right.  
He loved Wilson. It felt safe to say that now.  
He had always known. It just felt like some dark, cagey secret, and voicing it gave it power.  
Well. More than it already had.  
It was… disgusting, in a way. Sickly, how such a simple thing controlled him. Terrifying. This kind of power could rip him apart. _Wilson_ could rip him apart with his pinky finger, if he wanted to.  
And then….what would happen next? What would life be if Wilson hated him? How could he live with himself if he pushed him away?  
House paused. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t.  
If he was smart, he would cut himself off, like he did with Stacy, and save himself a world of pain.  
So why didn’t he?  
He hesitated. It was easy. Five words or less. _This won’t work. I can’t do this._  
But that was saying I don’t want you.  
And that was something he truly couldn’t do.  
Beside him, Wilson turned in his sleep, and House tried to be as still as possible. It was painfully similar to last night- Wilson sleeping in his presence and House lying stiffly, staring at the ceiling and trying not to think too much.  
Then a voice said in his ear: “You’re shitty at pretending to be asleep.”  
House huffed and turned to face him. Their noses were almost touching. “I’m sorry, was my complete and utter silence disturbing you?”  
Wilson paused. “Yes.”  
It was awhile before he spoke again, and House stared into Wilson’s brown eyes. They seemed to have more depth in the darkness, and he idly pushed a strand of hair out of Wilson’s face.  
“What are you torturing yourself over now?”  
House frowned. That ability to know what he was thinking could become a problem.  
“House,” Wilson’s voice had a note of warning- or was that desperation?  
“This has to be unhealthy,” House began. _Five words._  
Wilson almost laughed. “Now you care?”  
“I’ll do anything for my prescription.”  
“I enable you, what’s your point?”  
“I need too much looking after.”  
“And I try to help when I shouldn’t, _what’s your point?”_  
“So why do you stay? I need to know, because it’s only going to take a couple of years before we hate each other more than love and you’ll leave me!”  
There was a long silence.  
“I think I said it before, but I’ll say it again- however many times it takes to sink in that thick skull of yours.” Wilson’s voice quivered, he looked close to tears. “I choose you. I’ve _always_ chosen you.”  
“Why?”  
_“Why?”_ Wilson said in a ragged voice. “Do you hate yourself so much you can’t understand that someone would actually want you? Can’t you just accept that for some God-forsaken reason, we keep coming back to each other? You said yourself that we need each other, isn’t it okay to want, too?”  
Now Wilson really was crying, but he pressed on in a low voice dangerously close to begging. “I know you think the bad outweighs the good in people-” a sob wracked his chest- “But even if you can’t have faith in humanity, please-” another cry. House was aching to put his arms around Wilson and quiet the crying, but Wilson was staring at him with a very determined look through wet eyes. “Have faith in _me._ I’m not going to leave you, because I love you, and I don’t see anything selfish in that!”  
Finally, Wilson would let House touch him. He collapsed into House’s arms, still crying, hand clenched around his shirt. House wrapped his arms around Wilson, burying his nose in the sweaty crook of Wilson’s shaking shoulder.  
The magnitude of what Wilson was saying hit him suddenly, and with a jolt, he realized Wilson was right.  
“Okay, okay, it’s okay. Don’t cry, my love,” he whispered, and he could feel Wilson melt in his arms. He planted wet, almost lazy kisses on his nose, cheek, and finally his mouth- something so tender and delicate Wilson was shocked either of them could manage it, even though it was through Wilson’s sobs. The kissing stopped the crying, at least for a while, and all House could think to do was to run his thumb over Wilson’s wet cheek and keep him safe in his arms. “I’m here. I’ve got you,” he whispered, over and over, until they both fell asleep.


	3. Calm

Early morning sunlight washed over Wilson’s skin; sleepily, he pulled the covers closer to him.  
For a moment, he just lay there.  
House had a possessive arm slung around him, and Wilson had pleased to see that he murmured something indistinguishable under his breath when Wilson tried to leave. Wilson lifted House’s arm and put a pillow underneath it. With a smile, he thought of how mortified House would be when he realized how much of a cuddler he was.  
Wilson was lucky to see House with his eyes closed two days in a row, and again, that phrase popped in his mind: achingly human.  
It was disarming, in a way. To see the mouth that bit and spat venom all day long to be hanging open slightly, peacefully in sleep.  
Gently, Wilson leaned down and kissed his cheek.  
He stood there, the floors cold on his feet, just staring at sleeping House with the most ridiculous smile on his face.  
House wanted him.  
It had taken almost a decade for Wilson to realize how bad he had it for House. Honestly, he thought House would never realize. If he did, he certainly wouldn’t return Wilson’s feelings.  
Yet here they were.  
The walls and floors and door looked the same as yesterday, which was odd, because everything had changed.  
He had fallen asleep in House’s arms. After yelling. And screaming, and crying. And kissing. And confessing their love. Only they could manage to do all of that in one night. Considering the spend most of the rest of the day arguing, it just wasn’t so bad.  
House- _Gregory House_ \- had called him ‘my love’. Wilson wondered if this feeling was heroin- or maybe, happiness.  
Just because he could, he bent down and kissed House’s cheek again, rough with stubble.  
One of House’s favorite quotes slipped into his head. You can’t always get what you want.  
Quietly, he slipped out of the room- shivering at the cold floors- and stumbled down to the living room. Humming quietly, he sang: “But if you try sometimes, just might find...you what you need!”  
He punctuated this last part, throwing his fist into the air in victory. Wilson was horrified when he saw Foreman in the kitchen, luckily, he was facing the other way. Wilson quickly put his arm down.  
“Morning, Foreman.”  
Foreman gave him a nod. “Coffee?”  
“Er- sure, thank you.”  
“Where’s House?”  
Wilson nodded towards the bedroom. “Still sleeping.”  
Foreman snorted. “He sleeps?”  
“Yes,” Wilson replied, almost defensively. Foreman seemed to recognize this, for when he spoke again, his tone was much more casual.  
“So- busy night?”  
“Busy night?” Wilson echoed, confused.  
“We heard….noises,” Cameron explained, walking out of the guest bedroom with Chase.  
Then it hit him. “Oh-no-no, we didn’t-” which was better to say to your colleagues, that noise you heard last night was me crying myself to sleep into House’s arms or having sex with him? Wilson didn’t know. “We’re not- well, we are, I guess, but, ah-I-uh… he looked down, biting his lip. “Yeah.”  
Chase raised an eyebrow, smirking to himself, and Wilson hates him. “We’re not- we are- yeah?”  
“Don’t worry about it,” Cameron said playfully, turning to Chase. “Chase is just being an asshole.”  
“I….don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wilson said, as innocently as he could manage.  
“Really? Cuz you had this weird sexual tension yesterday,” Chase frowned, and Wilson choked.  
“House and I did not have sex,” Wilson said firmly, although he pushed the words out through gritted teeth.  
“Man!” Chase handed Foreman a wad of green bills.  
“Told you so,” Foreman said smugly.  
“But,” Wilson said boldly, “We are in a..thing.”  
“Like a… relationship kind of thing?”  
“Uh..yeah, I guess,” Wilson said, and Foreman grudgingly handed most of the money to a pleased Cameron.  
“I- what?” Wilson sputtered. “You guys were taking bets on my love life?”  
“Er- we kind of thought that you inviting us to dinner was a way of…. Coming out,” Cameron explained.  
“What?”  
“You said, ‘dinner with House and I.’”  
“How else was I supposed to explain it?”  
“Listen, we’ve heard the gay jokes before,” Foreman said calmly. “But not normally coming from the apartment that you share, with House’s hand on your back, complaining about the neighbors and arguing like an old married couple.”  
“For what it’s worth, I think the arm thing was just to intimidate Chase into shutting up,” Wilson said weakly. Cameron flashed him a smile, probably the first real one this whole time.  
“We’re really happy for you.”  
House, of course, chose this moment to enter the room. “What’s going on here?”  
His eyes darted from deer-in-headlights Wilson to smug Cameron and a smiling Chase and Foreman.  
_“They pressured me,”_ Wilson whispered defensively.  
_“And you let them push you around?”  
“We didn’t really talk about this.”  
“I just assumed we wouldn’t hide it, but not talk about it,” _House muttered.  
_“Well, I didn’t hide it,”_ Wilson hissed back.  
The whole team could hear this little whisper-argument, without a doubt, and it was getting increasingly difficult to pass it off as a joke.  
Wilson genuinely had no idea what to say. Was this appropriate to discuss with colleagues? Or should they just shrug and move on?  
Luckily, House had no such qualms.  
He put his hand on Wilson’s back, and Wilson couldn’t help lean into him. “I’m sorry you have to find out like this, kids, but when a man and a man love each other very much…”  
Everyone in the room but him choked.  
“For how long?” Cameron asked, grinning.  
“Last night,” Wilson said, at the same time House said “Twenty years.”  
“Man,” Chase said again, astounded. “I genuinely thought you were banging off and on for years now.”  
“You’re surprised by the relations- you know what, I’m not having this conversation with you,” House declared, and limped over to the window. It had finally stopped snowing, leaving the town a sparkling white. The roads had been cleared, even though they still gleamed with ice, and they cast a tar-black line throughout the otherwise picture equse view. The sky was a clear blue, almost the color of House’s eyes, and he smiled.  
The team stared like they couldn’t believe their luck, something Wilson found a little insulting- they weren’t surprised by their new relationship, but were looking at House smiling like it was a rare mystical beast?  
House turned to see his three subordinates gaping. He frowned. “What are you looking at?”  
“He’s back,” Chase said, relieved. (Wilson sputtered in protest.)  
“You can’t tell,” Wilson said suddenly, remembering how gossip-y their work was. “That will ruin House’s chance to make out with me in front of the whole hospital.”  
House looked surprised but pleased at Wilson’s suggestion, and he tipped his head to acknowledge the point. “I’m sure it will be difficult, little gossiping ducklings, but we’re both gay, to some extent, I’m crippled, and he’s Jewish. I’ll sue you for discrimination if you so much as breath in our direction.”  
Wilson wouldn’t admit it, but he thoroughly enjoyed how protective House was getting.  
“Got it,” Cameron said, pursing her lips to hide her smile.  
“Have you checked the weather today?” he said, changing the subject abruptly.  
“Er-yeah. We can leave.”  
“You can leave?!” House said, ecstatic. “Why didn’t you say so?”  
“I believe we were having an intense discussion about your love life in which you threatened to sue,” Forman said dryly, because he was Foreman and didn’t give a shit.  
“They’ve cleared the roads?”  
“Yup.”  
“And the snow and hail, et cetera has stopped.”  
“You just saw it out the window.”  
“And all those oh-so-dangerous winds have died down?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Then...what are you still doing here?” House asked, and the three scrambled to get their things, some with more eye roll than others.  
“So when they want to leave, it’s fine,” House said playfully in the silence.  
“They’re not you,” Wilson observed, watching House’s subordinates busy around his living room. This was certainly not how he thought the weekend would turn out.  
“Good. Because it’s going to take a lot more than that to get rid of me.”  
Wilson turned to House. Behind me, the clear sky was a brilliant blue, almost the same shade as House’s eyes. He smiled faintly. “I expect nothing less.” 

•••  
“Have you got everything?” Wilson said to House’s colleagues. Foreman looked so, so done with them. Understandable. Even Cameron and Chase were tired. Wilson sincerely hoped he hadn’t ruined the bonds House had with other people because Wilson wanted to have dinner with them.  
“Yeah. Finally.”  
“You’d be surprised how far stuff can travel in two days.”  
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay for breakfast?” Wilson said, with rather uncharacteristic sass.  
Foreman raised his eyebrows and his hands. “I’m out, bitches.”  
He walked out the door- the rest of them could see him retreating down the stairs- and didn’t look back.  
“Okay,” Cameron panted. “I’m ready.”  
“Got all your clothes? Wouldn’t want to have to return some undies to you while at work,” House said sweetly.  
“Nope,” Cameron said cheerfully, and House’s smirk faltered as he rolled his eyes.  
Chase and Cameron stopped at the doorway. Wilson was reminded of grandparents giving their grandchild goodbye hugs.  
“So,” Chase’s mouth turned upwards slightly. “Thanks for dinner.”  
Wilson nodded. “Thank you for coming. And- sorry.”  
“Don’t worry about it.”  
“I promise not to invite you over again,” Wilson said with a smile.  
“Don’t. It was fun, expect for..well, most of it, actually,” Chase frowned. The others laughed.  
Cameron paused. “I really am happy for you.”  
Wilson smiled. “I know.”  
House’s mouth upturned slightly, and with an _almost_ fond look, he said: “Out.”


	4. Spring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooops, my hand slipped, and I wrote an epilogue.

House still hadn’t said the ‘l-word’ since that first night. Wilson was fine with that, for the most part. He called Wilson an idiot in the special tone of voice he saved just for him.   
Eventually, they did come out, in the most grandeur and Wilson-humiliating way House could think of. It was awkward at first- people congratulating them in the hallways, giving them snide looks- but then Wilson got to hold House’s hand in the elevator, give him a kiss on the cheek whenever he felt like it, make out when they used to make gay jokes.   
Gradually, Wilson realized this is how things were meant to be all along.   
There were still trials, and heartbreaks. There were arguments, fights, and Wilson even had to talk House out of suing Foreman once.   
Neither was completely perfect, and neither was completely at fault. But slowly, the middle ground between them became less rocky and easier to stand on, and House began to see that things are better this way. 

••• 

They got married in the spring.   
House said yes when Wilson asked, of course, and they got married as soon as possible. As House saw it, they had basically spent almost twenty years engaged, so no use waiting longer, and Wilson full-heartedly agreed.   
Wilson had spent a long time contemplating whether he should even ask, considering all the past wives. But there was something rather trivial and plebem about the word ‘boyfriend’, and their relationship was anything but that. It would be nice to hold proof they were for life. The air was clear on the day of the wedding. It was a pale blue, vast expanses stretching in every direction. House still didn’t believe in God or fate, but there was something captivating about looking up to see something so much bigger than you.   
There were flowers all over. They had had a surprisingly intense argument about the color and type, but eventually settled on white lilies and yellow roses.   
House had complained that he was going to be sniffly, due to all the pollen in the air, but in truth, he couldn’t wait to marry Wilson, regardless of the flowers. Cuddy had been insistent on helping, despite Wilson’s protest, (as she was mildly allergic) but as House put it ‘it just made her emotional crying performance during the vows more authentic.’  
The ceremony was small, both in guests and time- between the warm sun and House’s leg, Wilson decided it was best to be on their feet as little as possible. They were both well aware that Wilson was on spouse number four- but this time really was different.   
Wilson had built a little chuppah, and they said their vows under there. It was far from a traditional Jewish wedding, but Wilson was happy.   
The party consisted of their friends- well, Wilson’s friends- plus Cuddy and the kids, who, obnoxiously enough, were trying to take credit for their relationship. House’s parents were notably absent, but not truly missed.   
Truth be told, it should have been a little awkward. Foreman never really forgave House for almost suing him. House never really forgave Foreman for giving him reason to sue. House and Wilson were both still a little upset Cuddy had bet their relationship would only last five months, and Cuddy never quite forgave Chase for telling them. Wilson had compared it to the relentless drama in his extended family. House pointed out the difference between them was that real family doesn’t (shouldn’t) see each other as potential sexual partners on some level, to which Wilson had conceded.  
But now was not the time for that, and thankfully, all guests (and grooms) were very civil.   
Wilson was in a black suit, House in grey. House made fun of Wilson for crying almost as much as Cuddy and Cameron. (Who both blamed it on convient allergies.) The glistening tears Wilson saw running down House’s face in the sun went unmentioned.   
They said their vows. They hugged, they kissed, they cried. House shoved cake into Wilson’s face, who shoved some right back. It dribbled down their suits, but neither noticed and neither cared. They bitched and blabbered to each other. House played a couple songs on the piano to a delighted and somewhat shocked audience. They danced.   
House was a surprisingly good dancer, and Wilson was shockingly bad, so there was a lot of toe-stepping and tripping. House had complained excessively about Wilson’s lack of skills, but Wilson noticed he never made a move to stop or find another partner. They swayed around to ‘You’ve Got the Sliver’. Wilson can feel House singing the lyrics softly under his breath. “Oh, babe,” he hummed. “You’ve got my soul. You’ve got the siler, you’ve got the gold.”   
Wilson wasn’t sure he had ever been so happy. House even had the punch tested for MDMA, which said something really depressing about his relationship with happiness, but Wilson was determined to change that.  
It had taken twenty years and a snowstorm to get here, but they were finally happy, and never looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed reading! I certainly enjoyed writing it. Come find me on tumblr at @acca-be-the-same !


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